Guilt
by mtm
Summary: Even the strongest one can break.


**Guilt**

_Suppressed grief suffocates, it rages within the breast, and is forced to multiply its strength.- Ovid_

**This is my very first fanfic! I thought that after skulking around here for several years, maybe I could contribute something too. Therefore comments are very much appreciated, to enable me to write better stories!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing.**

I'm getting worried. The night hasn't been too busy and I have had time to keep an eye on the sad, haunted man at the bar, who has been drinking the night away. Steadily, without a hesitation, lifting a drink after drink to his lips until now, several hours later, he can't focus his eyes properly but still makes an effort to keep his hand steady. He is hunched over the counter but refusing to fall off the chair, although he is wavering slightly. I have tried several times to engage him while serving him, trying to get him to talk as obviously he is going through some bad times, but no, he will not divulge his secrets and I respect that. He is always polite but distant at the same time, his demeanour screaming at everyone to stay back and alone he has stayed all night, despite of the looks from all the ladies he has been getting. He is a handsome man, dark mop of hair that at the moment is flying at all directions after mistreatment from his restless fingers, dark, empty eyes, which seem to hold the pain of the world. Perhaps that is why no one has bothered him; they can see the emptiness and pain and with their own problems don't want to get involved with whatever is haunting this man tonight.

He waves once again and dutifully I go to him. "Another one of these, please", he says pointing to his glass, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. This finally does it for me. "I'm sorry sir, but I think you have had enough. The bar is closing anyway in 15 minutes so maybe it's time for you to head home. Can I call anyone to pick you up or do you want me to call a cab?" He looks at me and I can see desperation instead of emptiness in his eyes now. "How can I go home, when it's all empty and dark? How can I ever go to work again to meet the accusing faces of my team? It was all my fault! My fault!" And then to my horror he starts crying, silently tears are rolling down his face and he makes no sound. His face is distorted in grief and hatred and finally he stumbles down from the chair. I run to the other side of the counter and support him the best I can with my five foot two frame. I guide him to one of the tables as he is very heavy and I don't think I can support him any longer. I lower him down and he more or less falls in a heap into the chair, leans his elbows against the table his head in his hands. "Please sir, you need someone with you right now, there must be someone I can call", I plead with him. Finally he whispers through his heart wrecking sobs, with broken voice he says "My phone...Left pocket...Rossi..." I rummage through his jacket and find the phone. I call the person he wants.

A man steps to an almost empty bar and I can tell that this must be David Rossi. He is older than the man who is still crying with shoulders shaking under my hands, but he has the same world weariness in his face, the same grief I could see in the eyes of the man next to me. He nods at me when he comes closer and then his face crumbles when he sees the man and the state he is in. "Oh Aaron, what have you done to yourself?" He asks softly, coming to a stop and crouching down to be able to look the man (Aaron, I remind myself) in the eyes. Aaron lifts his head and with grief stricken eyes and tears still streaming, says to David, "It's my fault! If he hadn't been so traumatized after the Detroit case and I wouldn't have offered to talk to him to pull back the transfer papers, he never would have come to my place. If he hadn't been there it would have been me who got killed by the Reaper, instead of only being shot. Dave, I can't go to the funeral tomorrow!!" The last words were wailed while he was shaking and almost fell of the chair. David helped Aaron up and while I was trying to contain my tears I held the door open for them. The last thing I heard before they drove away was David saying gently with grief in his voice, "Aaron, it is not your fault that Derek Morgan is dead".


End file.
